


I Don’t Need a Parachute (baby if I’ve got you)

by socalloffyourghost



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Multi, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Returning Home, Slow Burn, love letter to the midwest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-09 19:41:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14722373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/socalloffyourghost/pseuds/socalloffyourghost
Summary: Darcy Lewis never wanted to go back home.Steve Rogers wants to move on from the life he left behind.Bucky Barnes just wants to be left alone.You can't always get what you want.





	1. Chapter 1

The sharp buzz of her cell phone woke Darcy from a dreamless sleep.

Cursing under her breath, she groped on the nightstand, fingers finally closing over the phone. She swiped to answer it without bothering to check who was calling; whoever it is deserves the foul-mouthed rant already building in her mind.

“Ms. Lewis.”

Darcy’s entire body went ice cold, her furious rant forgotten in an instant. She knew that voice, and knew what a phone call from him meant. 

“When?” she asked softly, sitting up. Her alarm clock said 4:50AM, which meant it was already late enough in Wisconsin that Lillian’s nurse would have already been up to check on her. Which meant--

A throat cleared on the other end of the line. “Last night, in her sleep.” Mr. Coulson, her great-aunt’s lawyer, was always calm and professional, but she’s known him since she was eight and can hear the gentle sorrow in his voice. “Diana called me just after seven. I’m so sorry, Darcy.”

“Fuck.” In a daze, Darcy reached out to grab her glasses off the nightstand, shoving them on her face and crawling out of bed. “What do I need to do?” 

“You’ll need to catch a flight out here.” Coulson’s no-nonsense tone is oddly reassuring--her whole world is crashing down, but there’s at least one person to hold her hand through the time she’s been dreading for six months. “Email me your confirmation and I’ll meet you in my office once you get up here.”

“Is the carriage house still empty?” 

“It is, and I have the keys at my office.” He paused. “The farmhouse does have renters, but we can decide what to do about that situation later on.”

“Okay.” Darcy took a deep breath, steeling herself for the hell that was going to be coming home. “I’ll call you when I land. Thanks.”

“Safe travels, Ms. Lewis.”

\--

She managed to get a flight out of Seattle that left at eleven; she spent the time before the flight calling her boss to let her know about the situation, packing as much clothing as she could into a duffle bag, and doing her best to keep the tears at bay.

With the four hours of her flight, the time zone change, and the two hours she has to drive from Milwaukee to get to her hometown, it was nearly dark by the time she pulled into the little parking lot next to Coulson’s office. 

“Darcy,” Coulson greeted her at the back door of the office in a pair of casual jeans and button-up that she’d never considered him owning. He’d always worn a suit whenever she’d had to meet with him before. Kitty and Lillian always used to tease him about being born in one. “Come on in, did you eat yet? I was thinking about ordering from Tina’s.”

“Not even home ten minutes and someone’s already trying to feed me.” Darcy smiled, but it wobbled a bit. “Nice to know things don’t change.”

Coulson snorted, leading her into his office. It hadn’t changed a bit since the last time she’d had to meet him here, the same dark wood furniture and artwork, desktop neat as a pin. “Would you like your usual, or something else?”

She dropped her duffle bag next to one of the conference table chairs and stared at him, startled. “You remember what I used to eat?” she asks, not at all proud of the way her voice squeaked at the end. 

“Darcy, you’ve ordered the same thing from Tina’s since you were ten. I assumed your idea of comfort food hasn’t changed.” His lips twitched into nearly a smile and she sighed, sticking her tongue out at him like she used to when she was a kid. He did laugh then, and pulled out his phone.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” He turned away, calling in their order, and Darcy looked around his office again. There were some subtle signs of the passage of time; some of the art on the walls was different, and there was a high school graduation photo in the frame on his desk instead of the awkward elementary school photo she remembered.

When Coulson hung up, she nodded at the frame. “Ellie already graduated?”

“Two years ago. She’s in Madison now; Animal Science.” He sounded proud, and it made Darcy smile. She’d only met Coulson’s niece a handful of times but she knew Ellie has wanted to be a vet since she was old enough to know what one was. Darcy couldn’t help but be more than a little envious of that kind of certainty about the future. She’d never had any.

“Cool. Tell her I say hi.” Darcy looked at the neat pile of folders on his desk and saw Lillian’s name scribbled on the top one; the reality of the situation hit her again and her face fell

Coulson must have seen her expression, because his voice was softer when he said “We don’t have to do all of it tonight, Darcy.”

“No,” she said, forcing herself to take a deep breath and pick up the first folder off the pile. “I don’t want to drag this part out any longer than I have to.”

Coulson looked like he wants to protest, but when she sat herself down in one of the chairs at the small conference table, he didn't make any further arguments.

\--

It was almost eleven before they called it a night and Darcy had never been more thankful for her aunt’s need to always be as prepared as possible. Most of what they needed to cover was already in the pages of legal documents that Coulson removed from the folders; funeral preferences, phone numbers of the people who would want to know, and a list of the places Darcy needed to call to start the lengthy process of distributing Lillian’s estate.

Before she left, Coulson handed her a set of keys with a worn little cow dangling off the end. The sight of the tacky keychain made Darcy smile; Kitty had always put ridiculous keychains on all her sets of keys and having that familiar cow back in her hands made her heart ache all over again for that loss.

The drive from town out to the farm was another twenty minutes, shops and churches replaced by endless fields of soybeans and corn. The light above the stairs to the carriage house apartment was on, and Darcy silently blessed whoever came out here to turn it on. The farmhouse was dark, but there was a motorcycle parked next to the garage and a beat-up pickup truck in the drive. She parked next to the truck and grabbed her bag, taking the dozen stairs up to the apartment. 

When she let herself in, she expected the small apartment to be dusty and stale, but was surprised to find it smelled clean and vaguely lemon-y, which meant someone had come up here to check on the space before she’d arrived. There were even fresh sheets on the bed and a faded quilt she didn’t recognize draped over the back of the brown couch. 

A note on the kitchen counter caught her eye, with “Ms. Lewis” written in neat handwriting on the front. Tossing her bag onto the couch to deal with later, Darcy snatched up the note and began to read.

_Ms. Lewis_

_We’re so sorry to hear about your aunt. We never had the chance to meet, but Mr. Coulson always spoke highly of her._

_I hope you don’t mind, but we took the liberty of cleaning up a bit since no one’s been up here for a while. The spare key is on the hook down in the garage, and there’s no other copies around so you don’t have to worry about being bothered. We don’t know what the insulation is like up here, so the quilt is for you if it gets too cold._

_Our phone numbers are on the chalkboard in the kitchen, so if you need anything, just let one of us know._

_Capt. Steven Rogers and Sgt. James Barnes_

Vaguely, Darcy remembered Coulson mentioning that the farmhouse was occupied, but he’d never mentioned who was renting it and she couldn’t help but be strangely touched that two military guys took the time to air out and clean up the apartment she’d be staying in for the near future. It’s the type of small kindness she’d missed about living in such a small town.

Exhaustion and grief hit her like a sack of bricks; her eyes stung with tears as Darcy fumbled through her bag for a pair of yoga pants and a shirt to sleep in. She pulled the quilt into the bedroom and draped it across the bed, crawling underneath and falling asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow with tear tracks drying on her cheeks.

\--

Once again, Darcy woke to the sound of her phone--this time it’s a series of text messages and given the last twenty-four hours, there’s only a few people who would be texting her today.

_Barton: nat just told me about lillian_

_Barton: i’m so fucking sorry_

_Barton: are you coming back to town?_

_Barton: shit_

_Barton: you’re already here aren’t you_

_Barton: someone ordered your thing at tina’s last night_

_Barton: so I know you’re back_

Groaning, she dragged herself out of bed, grabbed her glasses, and headed into the bathroom. Once she was feeling a little more human, she threw her hair up into a messy bun and reached for her phone. As she opened the messages again, another one arrived.

_Barton: knock knock bitch we brought coffee_

Just as she read the message, she heard the crunch of the gravel in the driveway and pulled back the ancient lace curtains to see Clint’s truck pulling up next to her rental. There was a flash of red hair from the driver's seat and Darcy nearly started crying again. Of all the people to come to her...

Darcy moved to open the apartment door before Clint and Nat had even made it up the stairs. Clint looked half-awake, his blond hair shoved under a faded John Deer hat, and he was clutching three to-go coffees from the gas station on the edge of town. Nat, who always looked perfect no matter what the hour, was carrying a large white box with a gold scrolling logo that Darcy immediately recognized.

“Did you bring me kringle?” she asked, wide-eyed, stepping away from the door to let them inside. Nat gently placed the box on the kitchen counter and opened it to reveal the gooey iced pastry ring. 

“I didn’t have time to make a casserole,” the redhead quipped. “Raspberry cheesecake. Kate said she sent food over to Coulson’s office last night, so I sent a text to Thor and Frigga had this waiting for us when we came in.”

“Oh my God.” Darcy’s eyes welled up with tears again, and Clint looked panicked for a split second before Nat took the coffee carrier, freeing him up to step in and pull Darcy into a tight hug. With a gasp, Darcy buried her face in the collar of Clint’s flannel shirt and burst into sobs.

After a minute, Darcy sniffled as she pulls back from Clint’s hold, frowning at the damp patch on his shoulder. “Ugh, I got snot all over your shirt, I’m sorry.”

“Eh, what are ex-boyfriends for?” Clint shrugged, pushing her gently towards the couch. She let him guide her until she was sitting in the corner of the couch, tucking her feet underneath her. The apartment was still chilly and she wished she’d thought to grab the quilt from the bedroom; it had been warm and beautifully soft.

“You went on one date when you were thirteen, Clinton.” Nat shook her head, bringing over the coffee and kringle. She must have cut it up while Darcy was crying because Clint was handing her a slice as soon as the box hit the table. “That’s not exactly a relationship.”

“Doesn’t matter, Darcy is still my favorite ex.” Clint looked smugly at Nat, who rolled her eyes and picked up a piece of the kringle for herself. The memory of Darcy and Clint’s singular attempt at dating never failed to bring a smile to Darcy’s face; they’d gone to the county fair, and Clint had tried to win her a stuffed hippo at the balloon dart game. He’d failed, but Darcy started ranting about the games being rigged and the carnie had given her the hippo anyway just to shut her up. The hippo still had a place of honor on her bookshelf in Seattle.

“Anyway,” Nat said loudly, pushing a coffee towards Darcy. “We did actually come here because we wanted to see how you were doing, with everything.” 

Clutching her coffee cup in sticky fingers, Darcy looked down at the plastic lid and tried to figure out just how to express the absolute mess in her head. “I’m..more fucked up than I thought I’d be. I mean, we knew it was coming and it’s not like I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye while she was still there enough to know me.” She took a drink of the coffee, raising her eyes at the familiar mixture of hazelnut coffee and crappy gas station cappuccino. “...really, Nat?”

“I thought you might like something familiar, but I guess not.” Nat looked unconcerned, though Darcy could see Clint attempting not to laugh. “I knew you’d turn into a coffee snob when you moved out to hipster-land.”

“Shut up and let me drink my monstrosity.” Every morning in high school, in the days before a Starbucks opened in the next town over, Darcy and Nat had snuck over to the gas station to get their ‘coffee’; half hazelnut coffee, half instant cappuccino, and three creamers. It still tasted exactly like she remembered, yet another thing that hadn’t changed about home no matter how long she’d been gone. 

Lost for a moment in the memory of better days, Darcy shook herself out of her thoughts and continued on in a softer voice. “I knew Lillian and Kitty were leaving everything to me, but I forgot I’d have to deal with the farm and I don’t even know who’s renting the land right now.” 

“Coulson would have the paperwork.” Nat snagged another piece of pastry. “Speaking of renting, have you met your neighbors?” 

“No,” Darcy said, looking over to the countertop where the note from Steven and James still sat, neatly re-folded. “All I know is that they’re military and came over yesterday to air out the place before I got here.”

“Wait, both of them?” Clint asked around a mouthful of pastry, raising his eyebrows. When Nat made a face at him, Clint swallowed everything down with a slug of coffee and then continued. “Because I’ve seen Steve a few times in town, but no one’s ever seen his buddy.”

Darcy paused, thinking back to the note and the scribbled phone numbers on the chalkboard behind the front door. “I don’t know if it was both of them or not,” she admitted. “But either way, it was nice of them to do that for a total stranger.”

“Don’t the boys out west have manners?” Nat teased, grinning when Darcy made a face at her. “We would have done it for you, if we’d known you were coming.” 

“I’m sorry--” Darcy started, but Clint shook his head and pulled her in for another side hug.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re here, shit is terrible, what can we do to help?”

“Can you start calling people?” Darcy glanced over at the counter, where her list of contacts rested on top of all the other paperwork she’d brought home last night. Clint’s familiar, no-nonsense practicality was the steadying influence she needed to pull herself back together. 

“Of course,” Nat said, heading for the paperwork as soon as she’d seen where Darcy was looking. “Clint and I will handle it, you go take a shower so you don’t look like you just rolled out of a barn.”

“Charming, Nat, as usual.” Clint rolled his eyes as soon as the redhead’s back was turned, and smiled at Darcy. “Go, we’ve got this.”


	2. A funeral is a terrible place for a meet-cute

The morning of the funeral was one of those rare, perfect Midwestern spring days and Darcy resented the hell out of it. Couldn’t nature just do her a solid and give her some good, solid rain to match her mood?

Lillian had planned every detail of her funeral years ago and Darcy mercifully only needed to hand the list to the funeral director, who promised to honor all of her aunt’s wishes. Given her own choice, Darcy would have at least forgone the endless visitation hours--shaking hands with what felt like everyone in town over the age of 60 as they filed past the casket in their best funeral clothes. They were all so sorry for her loss, Lillian was such a lovely woman, ‘I remember this one time when’...after a while, all the insincere bullshit stated to blur together and Darcy’s cheeks hurt from keeping her polite smile fixed in place as she thanked them for coming while silently loathing each and every one of them.

The funeral ceremony at the cemetery was thankfully brief, though Darcy felt uncomfortably on display sitting by herself in the row of folding chairs reserved for family, wishing she’d asked Nat and Clint to sit with her. At this point, they really were the only family she had left--not by blood, but that had never mattered. Not for the first time since Coulson’s phone call, her thoughts drifted to her mother and how Maggie Lewis should have been sitting beside her for this, mourning the loss of the woman who raised her.

The only time she nearly lost her composure was when everyone else was walking away, low voices murmuring as they split off into their individual cars. Darcy didn’t move, her gaze fixed at the headstone engraved with “Catherine McHenry Lewis” and “Lillian Rosemary Lewis”. Just the years of their births and Kitty’s death, with Lillian’s blank spot still waiting to be engraved. 

Heedless of the damp grass, Darcy knelt down and traced Kitty’s name with a fingertip, and then the inscription beneath. _I love you — I am at rest with you — I have come home_. She remembered picking it out with Lillian and Kitty, the endless beeping of hospital monitors drowned out by their laughter, with Kitty weakly teasing Lillian about her obsession with detective novels. It was one of the last truly happy memories she had of them together, before the end.

Standing up, she brushed grass clippings off the front of her skirt and glanced at the smaller gravestone to the left of Lillian and Kitty’s plot. It was plain, polished granite, engraved simply with _Margaret Ann Lewis, August 1972 - May 1993._

_You should have been here for this,_ she thought savagely, feeling the tears she’d been holding back all day well up in her eyes. If her mother had been stronger, had loved Darcy just a little more, she would be standing right by Darcy’s side instead of six feet under. The combination of anger and grief churning in her gut only made her tears come faster. 

“Darcy?” Nat’s slender hand came to rest on Darcy’s shoulder as she stepped up next to Darcy on the right, Clint silently taking up the spot on her left side so Darcy was bracketed between them. They’d done the exact same thing at Kitty’s funeral, holding a hollow-eyed Darcy when she didn’t know if she could stand anymore. “Don’t do this to yourself today. Come back with us, some of the ladies from the church made food for everyone.”

“Yeah, sure. Let’s go.” Darcy wiped her tears with the back of her hand, ignoring the fact that she’d probably just smeared her mascara, and let Clint and Nat take her hands. She could handle a few more hours of awkward chit chat before she went back to the farm to get blind stinking drunk and forget everything for a little while.

\--

The luncheon was as awkward as she’d predicted, but Clint and Nat ran interference as much as possible, giving her a chance to at least eat something in peace. She’d been too queasy to eat breakfast that morning, despite Nat’s best attempts/threats. After one bite of the tater tot casserole that Nat had heaped on her plate she’d found her appetite again and contemplated going up for another serving before she heard someone clear their throat next to her.

“Excuse me, Ms. Lewis?”

Darcy turned in her chair, surprised to find herself looking up at a man who looked exactly like the kind of Midwestern, corn-fed farm boy that you would see in a tractor brochure; broad shoulders, wheat-blonde hair, sky-blue eyes. Even if she’d been standing in her heels, Darcy would have needed to look up to meet his gaze. He wore a neat suit but looked awkward, as if he didn’t quite know what to do with himself, but she watched him take a deep breath before speaking again.

“I’m sorry to bother you today, but I thought I’d introduce myself. I’m Steve Rogers, I’m renting your aunt’s farmhouse for the summer?”

“You didn’t have to come today,” Darcy said without thinking, immediately wanting the earth to swallow her whole. Who said things like that to a handsome, very nice guy who was clearly being polite? Only her, apparently. “Fuck, sorry, that came out wrong. Thanks for coming, even though you didn’t have to.”

“My ma grew up here and she used to talk about Miss Lillian and Miss Kitty all the time.” Steve shrugged, clearly uncomfortable now but still too polite to just walk away. “I just wanted to pay my respects to Miss Lillian for her sake, and to introduce myself since we’re neighbors.” 

“Thanks,” Darcy tried for sincerity this time, and mostly managed it. It was hard not to be a little distracted by those shoulders in that suit. She was only human, after all, and it had been a long fucking day already. “And thanks for cleaning up the carriage house. That was really kind of you guys.”

Some of Steve’s awkwardness seemed to drain away, the stiffness in his shoulders relaxing as he gave her a small smile. “You’re welcome. Mr. Coulson called us and let us know you’d be staying out there, so I figured we better make sure you at least had clean sheets.”

“Still, I appreciate it. How long have you been at the farmhouse?” It was much easier to deflect the conversation away from herself than talk about why they were all sitting here, surrounded by the scent of stale coffee and casseroles. 

“About two months now. Bucky and I needed a quiet place to stay after--.”

“Darcy!”

The sound of someone calling her name broke into their conversation and Darcy winced, knowing her moment of respite was officially over. She turned her head to see Mrs. Danvers waving her over, surrounded by a small group of women that Darcy vaguely recognized and had absolutely no desire to interact with.

“Duty calls,” she said dryly, giving Steve a tired smile. “It was nice to meet you though.”

“Likewise, Ms. Lewis.” Steve nodded in the direction of the hovering women, a small smirk hovering at the corner of her mouth. “Good luck with the church ladies. They’re absolutely ruthless.”

That startled a laugh out of her, and she tried to hide it with a cough, but Steve’s knowing look said she hadn’t fooled anyone. “Like a pack of vultures in aprons,” she said over her shoulder, forcing herself not to grin at the laughter she heard from behind her as she walked away.

 

\--

It was well past midnight when Darcy finally gave up on the idea of sleep. She’d sent Nat and Clint home hours ago, claiming exhaustion and the need for some alone time. She really had needed some time to herself with no one fussing over her or trying to talk to her about Lillian, but being alone also had the unfortunate effect of giving her nothing to distract herself from thinking about the fact that the last person who loved her was now gone.

After hour three of staring at the ceiling, Darcy swore and climbed out of bed. It was still mild for spring, but not warm enough for her to skip throwing on a flannel shirt over her pajamas and putting on a pair of thick socks before she shoved her feet into her worn-out Chucks. The moon was bright enough that she could get by without a flashlight, but she grabbed her phone just in case, along with the quilt from her bed and, most importantly, the half-full fifth of shitty whiskey that Clint had left behind. 

The old gazebo in the back of the garden was still standing, looking worse for the wear after several years of neglect, but it was still a perfect spot for her to get stupid drunk and finally have the good cry she’d been holding back all day.

Or it would have been perfect, if it hadn’t been already occupied.

“Fuck!” Darcy swore when she caught sight of the man leaning against the railing, lit only by the scattered moonlight through the lattice wall. Juggling the quilt and the whiskey, she managed not to drop either and stared down the stranger who had the nerve to occupy _her_ favorite moping spot. “What the fuck, man?”

The shadowed man just stared at her, expressionless, and slowly took another drag off the cigarette between his fingers. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could make out dark hair that hung limply down to his shoulders and the beginning of what looked like a decent week’s worth of stubble. Not exactly a comforting sight, but if she got murdered by a mute hobo at least she wouldn’t have to deal with cleaning out the farm buildings. Silver linings and all that.

When he continued to stay silent, Darcy scowled and sat down on the wooden bench, wrapping the quilt around herself to keep the chill away. “Fine. Be that way Mr. Tall Dark and Silent.” Struggling a bit, Darcy opened the bottle of whiskey and took a long pull from the bottle, coughing at the burn of the liquor. Clint hadn’t exactly gotten the good stuff; it tasted vaguely like paint thinner, but it would do the job.

He was still watching her, his gaze flicking down to the bottle and back up to her face, and Darcy could almost swear she saw a hint of disapproval in his otherwise blank expression. “No, no judging,” she scolded, taking another swig of whiskey. It burned less this time, but the taste was just as bad as the first sip. “You stick to your vice and I’ll stick to mine.”

The stranger let out a huff of breath that might have been a laugh, but his expression remained so devoid of anything resembling an emotion that Darcy rolled her eyes. “Look, I’ll level with you,” she said, gesturing at the maybe-hobo with the bottle. “I came out here to get shitfaced, so if you can just let me do that before you murder me that would be swell.”

Apparently accusing the stranger of potential murder was the ticket to getting through to him, because an expression like pain flashed across his face before he turned away to look back out at the yard, his shoulders stiff. Well, fuck. 

“Sorry, that was kind of dick-ish. In my own pathetic defense, I’ve had a really fucking bad day and you look like a hobo.” Sighing, Darcy tilted her head back against the swing’s backrest, staring up at the ceiling of the gazebo. Her aunts had finally gotten around to running electricity out here when she was younger, but there was still an ancient kerosene lamp hanging from the rafters. Idly she wondered if Clint had cleared out of her stash of weed at some point after she’d left or if there were some truly ancient joints still hiding inside the oil reservoir. 

When her apology didn’t get a reaction, Darcy slugged some more whiskey and slunk down deeper into her blanket cocoon. “Okay, no defense, assuming you were a murderer was super fucking rude. I’m sorry.” She held the bottle out towards his still-turned back, shaking it a little as enticement. “Peace offering?”

That finally seemed to work; he turned around, looking down at the bottle in his outstretched hands. She shook it again and he reached out, their fingers brushing as he took the bottle from her. Darcy still couldn’t decipher the look he was giving her, but she was counting the fact that he’d taken her booze as proof she hadn’t totally pissed him off.

The stranger took a drink, then coughed and made a face. “Jesus,” he rasped, looking down at the bottle in his hand with disdain. His voice was soft and low, but it gave Darcy a little shiver that she seriously wasn’t drunk enough to examine too closely. “That’s fucking awful.”

“Gas station special,” she quipped, making a grabbing motion at the bottle in his hand.“Beggars can’t be choosers when it comes to booze your friends leave behind, and I’m drinking to get drunk not to enjoy the taste.”

“You need better friends,” he grumbled, taking another swig from the bottle with a grimace before handing it back over. Darcy rolled her eyes at his theatrics and jerked a thumb at the empty space on the bench beside her.

“Sit down, looking up at you is making me dizzy.” Another drink, and she had to admit he wasn’t wrong about how fucking awful this shit was. Clint had no fucking tastebuds and was never in charge of buying liquor ever again. “I’m Darcy.”

He gave her another inscrutable look. “Figured as much.” 

“Oh really? You got a name, or do I get to make one up?” Darcy eyed him over the rim of the bottle before she put it to her lips again. “Because I’m thinking you look like a Herbert.”

It might have been Drunk Darcy seeing things, but she would swear she saw his mouth twitch in something that could _maybe_ be called a smile. “James,” he said, finally sitting as far away from her as he could and still be on the same bench. 

The name shook loose something in the back of her mind and she sat up, pointing at him with the bottle. “Oh shit, you’re Steve’s friend!” She grinned, holding out the bottle to him again.

That name got an actual reaction out of James--he clenched his jaw, then clearly forced himself to relax. “Yes.”

“Ooh, that’s a story that I’m probably too drunk to properly sympathise with.” Darcy scooted closer to him, ignoring the surprised look James gave her as he took the bottle from her fingers. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m nosy as hell so I want to know all the dirty details, but there’s a fifty-fifty chance I won’t remember any of this in the morning so whatever tragic backstory you two have can wait.”

James didn’t hide his confusion. “You’re not exactly what I expected.”

“I get that a lot.” Darcy snorted, grabbing the bottle back for another sip. The sharpness of the whiskey made her cough again, eyes watering. “You were expecting what, a wholesome Midwestern farm girl who loves country music, her daddy, and Jesus?” 

A guilty expression crossed his face and she laughed, but it was more bitter than amused. “Nah, I’m the no-good heathen orphan who was raised by two little old lesbians. I don’t think wholesome is the kind of word people here use to describe me.”

Silence fell between them; not an uncomfortable one, but it lingered for few minutes as Darcy quickly finished off the bottle. She leaned back, staring at the ceiling of the gazebo which was spinning slightly in her blurry vision. “M’sorry for dumping all that shit on you. If you could just forget everything I said tonight, that would be great.” she mumbled, burrowing down further into her quilt and closing her eyes. The buzz she’d been chasing had skipped out already, leaving her fucking exhausted.

Darcy felt James hesitantly put a hand on her blanket-covered shoulder; before she could even really register the touch he’d already pulled back. “You should go inside before you pass out,” he said stiffly.

She made a confused sort of humming noise and shook her head. “M’fine, sleep out here all the time.” With that solemn pronouncement, she yawned and slumped against something very solid and warm, drifting off into dreamless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have a beta, so please point out any mistakes you may find. This is my first fic in a really long time, but this idea has been in my head for months and wouldn't let go.


End file.
